The Alternative
by Lovesick Siren
Summary: Rattled by a string of unsuccessful romantic pursuits, Makoto takes comfort in the arms of her best friend.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers:

No ownership of characters claimed, they're all Naoko's. Based strictly on the Japanese version, but the only Japanese words you'll ever catch me using will be titles and forms of address.

This is my first effort with fanfiction, and I've had more fun than I can express trying to translate these flighty, fabulous, over-the-top personalities of the anime into a written format! I hope you enjoy. 3

- N

--------

Minako resisted visiting Makoto's apartment whenever possible, rearranging meet-ups or suggesting at the last minute that they rendezvous in public instead. Her skinny fingers could've held on one hand the number of times that she'd gone, without provocation, for anything that wasn't emergent.

No matter how well the independent brunette splashed new decorations across the walls or sent the thick, buttery aroma of baked goods dancing into the air, her lack of a family made an unfamiliar pain sound through Minako's ribs; she ached for the incomprehensible loneliness of her friend, but could never understand it, couldn't look it in the eye, and couldn't overcome it as a result.

This was a special case. She'd simply have to brace herself against the discomfort and assign it to the hand that kept those rare occasions. Makoto was preparing for a date - another date - and pleaded aggressively (as only Makoto could manage) for Minako to come assist her in selecting an outfit.

"This is what you -do,-" Mako accused through the telephone's receiver, its black plastic surface growing hot with her urgency. "You're into this crap, you need to help me."

Minako was not in the business of denying a friend in need, but she'd hesitated too bluntly and turned Makoto's persistence into defensiveness, making it harder to present a satisfactory alternative. And really, what was she to suggest? That her friend haul over every item from her wardrobe?

The walk to Makoto's complex was a slow crawl of apprehension. Even in her adolescent withdrawal from relying on her parents, she could recognize a fear of losing them, and after that, a complete nothing. A total lack of comprehension. She'd lost people only on a superficial level; moved away or discovered that they were no longer interested in her company. Death was an alien concept, and it troubled her profoundly to know that it was something Makoto knew intimately, something that'd left her living in a house with no one else's laughter but her own. That she never mentioned it was even worse.

Mako answered the door when Minako arrived in a flashy floral tunic - designer - and a pair of rough wool capris - casual. The distress on her face was unnecessary; her mismatched clothing said it all.

"Oh, surely you have better instincts than that!" Minako laughed, allowing herself into the tiny space and ignoring the lack of family photos.  
"I told you I needed help," she snapped irritably. "I was in-between outfits." This was a lie. It wasn't until being criticized that she realized the drastic mismatching of styles.  
"Alright, alright, I'm here. Let's see. . ." She stood with her arms folded behind her, surveying Makoto's closet with the criticizing eye of a drill sergeant. "What's the occasion?"  
"He's taking me to a party. A friend of his is celebrating!" Her giddiness so sharply contrasted the common bite of her tongue that Minako could not help indulging it. "Celebrating what?"  
"Oh. . . I don't know for sure. Probably some sports thing, or maybe his parents being out of town."  
There was that unhappy word, already, the one she said with no inflection, as though it meant anything. Minako side-stepped the alien ache, focused on tugging soft tops and flirtatious dresses from their hangers to color the bed.  
"Casual, then?"  
"Should be." Makoto abandoned the task to dig through a black lacquered jewelry box, dumbly picking through each bangle and bead, paying them the same faulty attention as she'd given her clothes, discomfited by being so far, so very_ far_ from finished getting ready!  
"Alright, alright, alri-i-ight," Mina sing-songed, tossing articles of clothing together, then tearing them apart again. With a flourish and an unnecessary straining of her voice to convey glamour, she insisted, "Then we need something that looks comfortable while still being sexy, but at the same time, like it wasn't even on purpose. 'I threw this on last-minute, but don't I look positively edible?' That's what we're after."  
Makoto postured her face to appear irritated by the nonsense, but secretly, she memorized every word. Just in case she'd need to try it again by herself, someday.  
"Here, start with this."  
"A tank top? I could have come up with that on my own!"  
Mina flapped the helpless garment in the air. "Oh, my God! It's just a first layer. Do you want my help or not?" Still, so much like her hot-tempered friend, the interaction delighted her even in its turbulence, and she could think of no better compliment to be paid than being relied upon for fashion advice.  
Makoto wrestled free of the poorly coordinated top she'd begun with and discarded it with all the tenderness of a trash collector (sending it to a pile on the floor that Minako assumed were the day's earlier rejects), then stuck out her hand to begrudgingly accept the pale pink top.

Mina's attention was drawn as surely by the unconcerned way Mako carried herself when exposed as she was by her friend's unusual appearance; nothing like herself, nothing like the girls she'd glimpsed at the gym. Her stomach was stone straight, sloped in not even at the ribcage, as if the slender column of muscle there had frightened away its curves, and her arms reacted to even the slightest movement with a tightening that betrayed how often she used them. Certain it was only the striking contrast between their figures that arrested her interest, she watched with a helpless attention to detail as Makoto dressed.  
Makoto, however, knew no such certainty. Suspicious and frustrated, she accused, "What? What?! It looks dumb, doesn't it?"  
"No, shush, it looks fine."  
"Fine?"  
"Fantastic. Sublime. Alluring. Shoosh." Realigning herself with the closet, she selected a tiny black t-shirt plastered with symbols, then spread it out for display. "What's this?"  
"It was from a concert I went to a couple of years ago. It doesn't come close to fitting me anymore, it's too short and too tight."  
Ah! Inspiration. The match-making fashionista inside her flared to life. "Perfect!" With a jubilant cry, she clutched the shirt's shoulders in both hands and ripped them clean apart, expanding the neck hole in a bouqet of uneven seams and split ends.  
Makoto whined with displeasure. "That didn't mean it had to die. . . "  
"Put it on! It'll be cute. A little off-the-shoulder shredded 'T over a pink tank top. That's what you'll wear."  
As Mako complained but complied, Mina clapped gleefully and announced, "See? It looks so cute! If only you could market this kind of talent!" Mako resigned herself to silence, not entirely trusting of the ensemble, but quietly appreciative of the tank top's gauzy, ribbed stomach staring out from under the too-short shirt's bottom hem. It was sexy. It was something she wouldn't have thought to do on her own.  
Minako's qualms about coming were forgotten in a moment of self-indulgence - neither her first nor her last - and she surveyed the ruined closet for a skirt, high on pride. "Go through your shoes, find those boots you wore when we were out last week, with the buckle."  
"Are you sure? Usagi called them clunky . . . "  
Minako barked a sound of reprimand and struck her own head with a flat, slapping palm. "You're just fighting me every step of the way, today!"  
"You're right, I'm sorry! I'm excited. Okay. Boots." Obediently and with great determination, Mako charged into the wreckage of a million disqualified outfits, digging out one boot at a time.  
Minako kneeled nearby, sorting through formerly folded piles of linen for anything resembling a pencil skirt, something a tank could be pulled down over without creating stomach bulk (God forbid), but she was suddenly less interested in hurrying home, and less aware of her hands as a result. Tentatively, tenderly, holding onto her smile, she decided, "He must be something special." _Because you're a nervous wreck._  
With only one boot recovered from the pile, Makoto could not help but slump down against her skinny bed, worn down to the bone by a hot, fast flood of affection. "He's amazing!"  
As if her love were a monster, something that could call down ruin if it weren't given an outlet, she selected a firm pillow and squeezed it between her fingers, trying to push out the overwhelming sensation. "It was one of those things, you know? We just saw each other for a second, just one accidental pass through the hallway, and I knew, eventually . . . mm."  
Minako halted her charitable cause long enough to empathize, heart drunk on memories of flirtation and pursuit. "Is it the first date?"  
"Kind of, not really. We ate together after school last week, but two of his friends were there. It kind of killed the mood."  
"No, that's even better!," Mina objected, playing advisor on a subject even she had limited experience with. "Now he'll get to see you both ways; as one of the guys, someone he can be comfortable with, and this, someone sexy, who he can show off to his friends."  
Tipping her head as if to let the information funnel in slowly, Mako decided that she agreed. "Makes sense. Do I have bottoms yet?"  
"Oh, right. Okay, lessee. . . What about this?"  
Makoto eyed the skirt, trying to recall when last she'd worn it. It looked form-fitting, which made her nervous, both because she couldn't remember buying it and because it might make her walk funny. "I don't know, it looks like it might squeeze me a little."  
Minako giggled. "And, as a result, so will he."

------

When she'd been ushered out the door by a frantic friend whose attention was given over completely to the clock, Minako's misgivings about the visit were long forgotten. Swept into the relentless current of new love and all its aching intrigue, she could think only of what they would talk about, whether he'd kiss her, and what deciphering they would do tomorrow of absolutely every syllable he uttered. She grinned up at the apartment complex as she rounded the corner for home and wished out loud, "Good luck, Mako-chan."


	2. Chapter 2

The hazy heat of a closing Spring made every little experience an eager one. Students knew the promise of summer was but a footstep or two away, and their distracted attention, already given with barely half a heart, was strained to its breaking point by the time the final bell rang.

For the majority, at any rate.

Usagi caught up with her most academic friend at the western entrance - a daily ritual that saw the two of them collecting girls at every stop until all five were together in Rei's pristine bedroom -, and was mortified to find that she was still reading. Reading and walking.  
"There's something wrong with you, Ami-chan. Something in the brain." Usagi tucked her hands behind her head as they descended a set of stairs to the grass, her slim, plastic book case swinging harmlessly against her shoulders with every step.  
Accustomed to the teasing, Ami only smiled, then re-read the sentence to be sure she'd understood it.  
It wasn't until Usagi skipped onto the sidewalk and continued on that the young scholar could be moved from studying to reality. "Wait a minute, we don't have everybody yet."  
Usagi paused, peered over her shoulder, then recalled with an unnecessary burst of energy and interest, "Oh! Mako-chan didn't come to school today, didn't you notice? And I know she's not sick!" Then, with a wistful, jealous edge, "Probably skipped out and spent all day curled up in bed with dumplings and trashy TV. I wish I lived alone."  
Her pout was so severe that it drew the glance of a passerby.  
Ami fell into step near the blonde and chastised gently, "There are only so many days left of the school year, Usagi-chan! That would be a dreadful misuse of time. I hope she knows better, too." Briefly concerned by the thought that Makoto would skip school and miss the opportunity to perfect her studies, Ami shook her head, then was consumed by the world of advanced geometry once more.  
Usagi let out a nervous laugh and quickened her step, eager to reach the bus stop where they'd join Minako for a ride to the Hikawa Shrine. At least she had -one- companion in youth amongst her friends! One precious kindred spirit who cared more about living in the moment than concentrating on the future!

Minutes of anxiously walking beside the serene, silent girl later, her salvation came tumbling into view; Minako was slumped against the bus stop bench, looking worse for the wear of a tiring school day. Usagi rushed with affection to be beside her, then adopted the same used-up position, happy to have company in her misery. Minako knew. She knew that you were supposed to be exhausted and unhappy when you gave up a beautiful Spring day to class work.  
"Ami-chan is acting crazy again," whined the shorter girl. "I think all the math has caused permanent damage."  
Mina laughed, then pointed an accusing finger. "You got another crummy grade, didn't you? And she told you something you didn't want to hear, I bet."  
"Worse! Summer is only two weeks away, and she still won't even -talk- about doing something fun for break. Just reads! Just walks and reads."  
Ami took no offense, neither to the comment nor to Minako's expression, suddenly identical to Usagi's. When they'd first become friends, she mistook so much of their chagrin over her studying as a personal attack. By now, more aware of them as people, it flattered her deeply to know that they wished with such devotion to be spending time with her, to include her in the things they thought were fun. But what a day it would be if she could only make them understand that she already -was- having fun, trapezoids and all.  
"I can't help it," she said with an airy detachment, "I'm a scrooge. A well-read old maid in a 16-year-old body."  
Minako's urge to reply with a tease was cut short when she noticed someone was missing. "Mako-chan?"  
"Didn't come to school today! Slacker. Here I am, putting up with the ugly hour that school starts and going to all these classes I can't stand, and she gets to spend the whole day in her own apartment, no one to yell at her about when she wakes up, no one to punish her if she does badly. . . I can't wait to move out."  
Overcome with a defensiveness that took her by force, she heard herself spit, "What an insensitive thing to say! You act like she's on vacation. I doubt she sees the loss of her family as the positive thing that you do."  
Stunned into a silence that they all knew wouldn't last, Usagi felt the worm of guilt wriggle obscenely in her gut, and realized her error too late, as usual. She softened and stilled, addressing the situation with a tender sincerity. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I wasn't thinking."  
But Minako's anger had been falsely directed to begin with, and it fizzled, was forgotten as she contemplated the scenarios which might've inspired Mako to skip school. She was as fondly accustomed to Usagi's forgetful way of speaking as Ami was to the group's reactions to her compulsive study habits, and barely acknowledged the apology, stormed over by concern.

-------

The dim approach of evening found them knelt around a low, glossy table, brows knitted together in an expression of academic effort. The silence was freckled with pencil scribbles, Usagi's low, miserable whine, and an occasional word of encouragement from Ami, but otherwise, the girls were consumed by the task at hand.  
Minako could find no peace. Newly vulnerable to the slightest disruption, she fidgeted with her pencils and shifted from one foot to the other and back again, then began to trace memories into herself of unimportant things around the room. Usagi was sweating; a thin, clear curtain of frustration on her love-pink skin. Rei had thrown her hair up in a multicolored band that, in some way, matched everything else she was wearing; intentional, or a happy accident of fashion? Three books on a nearby shelf were identical in size and jacketed in the same shade of beige; everything else defied its neighbor, almost as if on purpose.  
It was a useless endeavor. There were two things she could think about - nothing, or Makoto. Why hadn't she gone to school? Every scenario was over-the-top, amplified into nonsense by her worry. Had she gotten drunk and been arrested?! Been in an accident on the way home? Tightening every muscle with a premature and childish anger, she wondered if the punk had tried something, then wondered with a combination of jealousy and dismay if they'd spent the night together! Eventually the wretched suspense was too much to bear; any longer left alone with her thoughts would produce only more impossible scenarios, so she excused herself to the restroom, but instead went straight for Rei's telephone in the entryway. It was almost predictable that she received no answer.

---


	3. Chapter 3

I hadn't planned on updating until this section was entirely finished, but I received a few more subscription alerts, so I thought I'd extend my gratitude for anyone reading by proving that I haven't let this story go! Thanks for watching!

--

No amount of prayer could make the clock move faster for Minako that night. Enduring the study group to its end had wasted her resolve, emptied her of energy through a thousand tiny fidgets. She accomplished almost nothing in those four hours, left with as little knowledge of linear equations as she'd had to start, and the evening's conversation was a blur, indefinable.

The sullen blonde boarded a bus with her two companions like always, lost them both to the first stop like always, but for once, she was glad to see them go. Her body knew its destination well before it was realized, and she passed the place where she normally exited in a cloud, coasting quietly along with newborn gratitude for friends who lived nearer to Rei than she did. Friends might talk you out of strange decisions if they knew that you were making them.

Usagi's accidental clairvoyance followed her on the journey. As they'd descended the stairs of the shrine, the pig-tailed girl folder her fingers across Minako's shoulder and insisted, "I'm sure she's alright, Minako-chan. We'll all go visit tomorrow, okay?"

The sentence sounded strongly off the walls of her brain, her smile so bright that you'd want to hide from it if you were unhappy. That was Usagi, so vivid, unstoppably cheerful.

Sometimes it was enough that Usagi was sure of something. The occasion was rare and she was so often correct that to mistrust her seemed silly by now.

But Minako had her hunches, too, and on the walk from the bus stop closest to Makoto's apartment, she considered why the visit felt so necessary.

The longer her blood beat calmly, the further she wandered from the irrational; was it so likely that Mako had been hurt? Arrested? Harmed? Of course not. But the feeling of swampwater that churned in her stomach persisted, and it was with a self-reflective heave of breath that she saw which option upset her the most. What if they'd spent the night together?

Even the casual thought of sex seemed still like a drug, a taboo not to be broken, a world belonging to remote, elegant others that none of the five dared enter. It was something they hadn't done yet, it carried a newness that was alien and intimidating, yet it was such a positive something to those who'd already chanced it! The ultimate expression of romance, one that swore you into a new way of approaching relationships like taking an oath, it wouldn't require the comfort or support of a friend to be worked through as an accident or a hardship might.

But what wove anonymously through her brain just out of comprehension's reach was that it was, more importantly, more horribly, something that would divide them if one should take the plunge, it would set her apart from her partner in adolescence. Because they shared their innocence with one another, one of them trading it for experience instead would eliminate a bond created thereby, an eagerness and a curiosity more interesting when it was shared between those who traded their anticipation.

Minako would be left sullen and unaware while Makoto, in breaking one bond, would go on to form another with her new lover, a bond that Minako could never participate in. An unmistakable twoness that once had belonged to them as friends would reform as something else, with someone else, and it was with a clarity made painful by guilt that she realized her jealousy was not toward Mako for doing something first, but toward her potential lover, for taking her away.

Lagged by the realization of her shallowness, it suddenly felt impossible to make the 6-block journey from her bus stop to Makoto's apartment. Why wouldn't she be happy for her first, happy for her before anything else came to mind? She'd looked tirelessly for love since they'd met her, and that the possibility of her finding it inspired not joy, but sadness felt to Minako like a betrayal. At length, slumped against the door's thick frame, she knocked against its bold black numbers, by now red in the face and wondering what she would say to explain her arrival.

With a gesture of luck's miserable hand, she was released from having to explain herself at all.


End file.
